I Laugh At Those Who Call Me Old
by isingforhim
Summary: Upon entering Neverland, Captian Hook/ Killian Jones is ready for the new challenges that have presented themselves. This one- shot seeks to answer the questions 1) What does life on the Jolly Roger look like? 2) How/why did Hook stay mad at Rumple? Rated M for drinking, blood shed, and mild language that suggests rape. Based on 'I Laugh At Those Who Call Me Old.'


I Laugh At Those Who Call Me Old

"I laugh at those who call me oldWho think my age their best defenceFor often fall the young and boldWho fail to laud experience.My sword and I are much the same:Our actions swift and sureEach scar I wear, each graying hairThe life I gave to her." -The Old Duke, Heather Dale

Yet another member of the wild clan had fallen today. When he'd taken a first and final glance at the corpse, a haunted look lingered in blue eyes that peeked out from under scraggly black hair. Wither the gaze was from the recollection of the horror of a painful life, or the fear of the blade that brought about his demise, the boy's adversary was unsure. The latter was preferred. The dead runt would only be one of an amount beyond number that the pirates would feed to the hungry sea. Served the youngster right. He'd relied on his scrawny leader, who'd no doubt spoken of an island absent of bed times to seduce him into learning what lay behind the star.

How the captain had gotten caught up in this business, he didn't know, for he was here for a reason other than the one he found himself in. The hook at the end of his arm was a constant reminder that he must bide his time, remain in this world despite the threat of a constant, boastful nuisance; Peter. The carnage he left behind caused the Captain to acknowledge mortality. How dare the rooster challenge them! The Jolly Roger's crew had become a family of sorts. They found bravery in his steadfast actions, developed respect for him, for they'd followed their leader everywhere he went,earning their place on the ship many times over. Well, there was one sailor whose presence he questioned, whose chances of ever so much as touching a sword were growing ever dimmer. The caress of the wind and calming waves became secondary in thought to the Captain when he plainly heard a familiar scratching sound. Disgusted, he addressed the source, not bothering to whirl around.

"Smee?" No answer. "Mr. Smee!" The brush in new recruits hand momentarily stopped scrubbing at the now barely existent red pool that stained the wood. The mess was the only remaining memento of the intense battle that had taken place this afternoon. "Yes, Capn?" "Leave it be." "But-" "Fetch me drink!" "Right away, Capn." The small, heavy set man stood stiffly, fixing the red cap he often fiddled with as he quickly disappeared below deck. Smee's desire to rid his sight of the blood hadn't gone unnoticed by the others, who might also begin to carry piety for the Lost Boys in their hearts. No mercy could be shown if Hook and his men were to survive. He held loyalty above all else, and didn't hesitate to deliver this message, even when it meant striking terror into those who wavered. On several occasions, he'd run mutinous comrades threw, in case anyone had the gall to desert him.

Similarly, the women they'd managed to sequester aboard the vessel cowered in the Captain's presence. He took pleasure in this, but more so in their unaging beauty. Their rejection was related to their knowledge of him and some deep motherly instinct, he guessed. He saw the women's refusal of companionship as stupidity, but it stung, nonetheless. Milah, his lover, had been tender towards him. Hook would cherish her memory; give what life he'd ordinarily spend elsewhere to swordplay in Neverland, so that he could think of a way to carry out vengeance upon Rumplestilskin . He pictured Peter; the sudden motions he used to elude his hook, his smiling face as his elder tried to keep up with them. Killian Jones would have the last laugh, for he would not be bested by child, man, or beast, never. In the meantime, he could take the comfort he desired in the barrel rum of Smee clumsily brought with him.


End file.
